


ties that bind (you to our bed)

by hoosierbitch



Category: White Collar
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Orgasm Control, Porn, Risk Aware Consensual Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-08
Updated: 2010-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 00:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and El handcuff Neal to their bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ties that bind (you to our bed)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frankiemcstein](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=frankiemcstein).



> Big, huge, enornous, never-ending thanks to [](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/)**elrhiarhodan** , who sent me a laptop when I killed mine. I literally would not have been able to write this without you. You are generous beyond comprehension. Thank you!

A bead of sweat drips down Neal’s forearm. Slowly. Trailing over skin that belongs to Peter. He leans down and licks his way up the straining tendons and muscles; from Neal’s wrist to the inside of his elbow. His tongue stings with the taste of salt and Neal’s skin. His mouth floods with saliva. He licks his lips and swallows, tries to hide his hunger. It’s not time, yet; not time to take Neal’s cock in his mouth or bite his claim into Neal’s flesh. He can wait.

“Harder,” Elizabeth says again. And Neal’s body jerks underneath Peter’s hands, underneath his lips, which are still pressed against his arm, Neal’s jumping pulse frantic against the tip of Peter’s tongue.

The handcuffs are padded. The bonds secure and taut. Neal’s fingers are white-knuckled around chains that he can barely reach.

“Some Houdini you are,” Peter murmurs. “Can’t even get out of fifty-dollar restraints. I thought better of you.”

It’s…it’s close to cruel. Listening to Neal’s breath whine past his clenched teeth, watching his torso twist, tracing the sharply defined muscles of his chest and arms. Watching him fight. Ordering him to fight and watching him fail.

El laughs as she straddles Neal’s hips and sinks down onto his cock. Strands of her hair cling to the sweat on her neck and breasts. Peter brushes them away and then shifts on the bed, finding a better angle to watch them.

“Fight me,” El dares him. “Struggle.”

And something inside of Neal snaps. Some last reserve of energy, some hard-won bit of control, some piece of himself that he’d been holding back just – leaves him. He bares his teeth and growls and thrusts up into Elizabeth as hard as he can. Pulls at his restraints until the bedframe creaks.

It will hold. Long enough for El to use Neal’s body like a sex toy, riding him to her orgasm, kissing the sides of his mouth, pressing down on his heaving rib cage for an extra bit of leverage.

Ten, fifteen minutes and Neal’s crying. Crying and thrusting weakly, like a worn-down toy, like he’s forgotten how to stop. His fingers scrabble against the cuffs until Peter twines their fingers together.

“Can you get out?” he asks Neal as El gingerly lifts up and moves to Neal’s other side. Neal’s still hard, the leather ring around the base of his cock cruel and tight.

“No,” Neal whispers. The word slips past dry, bitten lips. His fingers clench between Peter’s, so he waits for Neal to relax again. Waits for Elizabeth to wipe away Neal’s tears and sweat and kiss his forehead and eyebrows and cheekbones.

“Neal. Neal, look at me.” His eyes are red-rimmed and exhausted. “Do you want me to let you go?”

It costs Neal something. Saying _no_. Some bit of pride or self-protection, letting go of a lie that had served as a shield for – for more years than Peter wants to contemplate.

“No.”

No, he doesn’t want to escape. He wants to stay in their bed and at their mercy, subject to their whims and desires and dangers. Because he trusts them. Enough to close his eyes and kiss Peter back when he leans forward, enough to relax around the slick fingers Peter twists inside of him, enough to hook his ankles together behind Peter’s back when he thrusts home.

Peter doesn’t often say _I love you._ It took him years to feel comfortable saying it to El when he kissed her hello or goodbye, a casual endearment and reminder.

He says it to Neal. When Neal’s knees are hitched over his shoulders and the headboard’s slamming against the wall and Neal’s mouth is open on a silent scream or cry or promise, Peter says it.

“We love you, Neal.” And Neal shakes his head until El’s fingers close around his cock, and then he nods, nods and strains towards her, asking for a kiss that she gives without a second thought.

El times it so that they come at the same moment. Watches for the warning shudders that run down Peter’s hips, the pace quickening, and unsnaps the ring around Neal’s cock, and takes him into her mouth. Peter thrusts home, once, twice, again and once more as Neal screams and tightens and comes.

Neal hasn’t said _I love you_ yet. And that’s okay.

His wrists are bruised, when Peter takes off the cuffs. Sweat glistens down the shaking curve of his spine, his red-rimmed eyes still can’t meet theirs. It’s okay because every time they ask Neal if he wants to leave, if he wants them to let go, he says _no_.

Peter has to stretch awkwardly across the bed to kiss El goodnight. Neal watches out of the corner of his eye, the way he always does when their touch is more about tenderness than lust. When Peter slings his arm over Neal’s rib cage Neal twines their fingers together again, then wraps his other hand around El’s wrist.

The bonds that tie all three of them together might be intangible, but that doesn’t mean they’re not real. Doesn’t mean they’re not just as terrifying, just as tight, just as hard to escape.

“Love you,” Peter whispers into the curve of Neal’s shoulder. Neal’s fingers tighten around his before they fall asleep.


End file.
